


I Could Give You Sweet Desire

by Verisimilitude



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clothing, Established Relationship, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verisimilitude/pseuds/Verisimilitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taken from <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/15253.html?thread=82152085#t82152085">this prompt</a> at the Sherlock kink meme:</p>
<p>
  <i>John completely naked, a fully clothed, gloved, Sherlock topping him. No skin to skin contact except for the obvious parts.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Give You Sweet Desire

Sex with Sherlock is a lot like the rest of John's life with Sherlock; strange, surreal, occasionally dangerous and often crazy.

Sherlock likes to push, likes to surprise, and sometimes startle John if he can. He might act like he's just trying to work out what he likes, but John doesn't believe that, not for a second. Sherlock's testing John's boundaries, trying to see where the limits are, where John'll finally say stop, enough, not this. So far, he hasn't found anything that John's said no to, at least the first time, and John's not quite sure who's the more surprised by that; the ex-virgin with the wealth of knowledge but little practical experience, or the ex-army doctor who's never looked twice at another bloke before moving into Baker Street.

Every time Sherlock pushes (sex in an alley two streets away from home, blowjobs in the gents at Angelo's, rimming over the back of the armchair, vibrators, handcuffs, lube that heats up, lube that cools down), John considers saying no for approximately 2 seconds, then does what he does every other time Sherlock drags him into some new brand of insanity; he throws himself into the situation, head first, with no thought of safety or consequence.

Each time, the fierce flash of surprise and pleasure that crosses Sherlock's face makes John flush with pleasure of his own, makes his pulse jump and his breath come just a little quicker. It's a frantic blend of joy and need and possessive want that only John gets to see, and it doesn't matter that John's pretty sure that look should make him want to run a mile, but instead it just makes him want to lean closer, and let Sherlock do whatever has taken his fancy this time.

Today, he barely gets to set foot inside the living room before Sherlock's pinning him against the wall, bodies pressed together so that ridiculous coat of his falls around the pair of them, trapping them in a world that contains only the two of them. John tilts his head up for a kiss, while his hands curl around Sherlock's hips, skin-warmed cotton against his finger tips. Sherlock's gloved hands burrow under John's coat and jumper and shirt, moving over his ribs and belly, and John can feel a trail of goose bumps following the path they take that's only partly to do with the hint of winter chill still clinging to the leather.

John shoves one hand in Sherlock's hair, slides the other around to his arse and pulls him in tight, until they're so close that it's as if the world outside just ceases to be. Sherlock's hips rock into John's, a slow and steady rhythm that doesn't match the greedy clutch of his hands on John's body or the deep, wet kisses that they're sharing. These are the moments that make trying whatever crazy thing Sherlock's thought up worth it; when there's nothing but the two of them and Sherlock isn't thinking of cases or experiments, or anything but this, anything but John.

He can tell though, the exact moment that Sherlock's brain kicks back in and he gets an idea. He can't say how he knows, it isn't like there's a change in the way Sherlock touches him, or kisses him or rubs against him like some great, lazy cat. but still, he knows.

He lets Sherlock pull away, lips parted and shiny, pupils wide and there it is, that look, as if he can't quite believe that he gets to do this, with John. John would tell him the feeling is entirely mutual, but he's not sure how Sherlock would take to hearing it and if he's honest, he's not sure he's ready to say it, yet.

It takes them just a couple of minutes to reach the bedroom, and Sherlock starts working on getting John naked before the door has even fully shut behind them. John tries to reciprocate, but Sherlock just shrugs his hands off and finally John gives up and lets him do what he wants.

He's been naked in front of Sherlock more times that he can coun, but it's normally mutual. This time, Sherlock's still dressed, having only stripped off his coat and scarf somewhere on the way to the bedroom. He even still has his gloves on and suddenly John gets an idea where this is going. Lust and anticipation make John's stomach flip with the same kind of crazy free-fall that he gets on a really good roller coaster, and isn't that an entirely apt metaphor for his entire life with Sherlock.

Sherlock pushes him back across the room, until he can get John laid out on the bed. Then he kneels between John's legs and runs his hands the length of John's body, from his ankles to his shoulders, the familiar touch dulled by the layer of leather between their skin. John tips his hand back and wraps his hands around the headboard because he doesn't need to be told that this isn't about him touching Sherlock. He gasps and twitches when Sherlock curls one hand around John's cock; the leather's rough, seams catching on sensitive flesh and it's not quite pain, yet not entirely pleasure either, but John rocks up into it anyway because it's a hand on his cock and he's man enough to admit that the thought of what Sherlock might do next makes him squirm in shameful anticipation.

It looks like this is going to be yet another kink that he didn't know he had before Sherlock. Like everything in his life now, sex has become divided into before and after and he doesn't miss the before, doesn't regret it, because he sometimes feels it's all been nothing more than preparation for the after, for this, for Sherlock.

Sherlock's other hand trails up John's leg again, leaving another round of goose bumps as he rubs all the hairs the wrong way. His hand moves away, then gloved fingers cup John's balls, the unexpected touch making John jump and his breath catch. Sherlock plays for while, then strokes further down, and further still. The first push inside makes John shudder and gasp. It's probably his imagination, but he would swear that the leather makes Sherlock's finger feel fatter than normal, can feel the seam scrape against his insides, even with the lube that Sherlock's got from somewhere.

Two fingers makes him arch, and he doesn't care that he's being wanton and desperate, couldn't give a fuck what he looks like, just knows that the dirty thrill of what they're doing makes his cock swell a little in Sherlock's hand, shivering when Sherlock rubs the slick tip of John's cock, a reward and a tease and he really, really hopes that Sherlock isn't going to try and wear these gloves again in future, because John doesn't think he can take that, not in public.

Sherlock doesn't undress, does nothing more than opens his flies and pulls his cock out. John raises his head, has to watch Sherlock stroke lube over his own cock. The look on Sherlock's face at the feel of leather on cock is surprised and hot and John trembles along with him, still feeling the bittersweet friction as if Sherlock's hand were still on him.

The first push of Sherlock's cock into John's body is rough, almost too hard, and John hisses, dragging one knee up to press it into Sherlock's ribcage. But he doesn't say no, doesn't say stop and Sherlock doesn't hesitate. He draws back and shoves again, then again and again until John's body finally lets him in. John's caught in that place where he can't separate pleasure and pain and he knows he's going to suffer for this tomorrow, but Sherlock's above him, the fine wool of his trousers against John's inner thighs, the soft silk of his shirt trailing tantalisingly over John's cock and belly, and his gloved hands braced by John's shoulders.

Gradually, each thrust becomes easier, smoother, deeper and John can finally relax into it. He lets go of the headboard and drags his hands down Sherlock's chest, stroking him through the silk, thumbs rubbing over his nipples, over and over until they're firm and Sherlock's shivering just a little above him.

It feels dirty and wicked to be naked while Sherlock's fully dressed and fucking him. Sherlock moves one hand and gives John's nipples the same attention John's given his and it's a rush to see the way Sherlock's can't stop watching his hand, obviously fascinated by the contrast of black leather and pale skin. Sherlock's cheeks are tinted pink, he's biting his lower lip and the touches he's bestowing on John are starting to lose their finesse. He's fucking John in earnest now, hard, deep, demanding strokes that light up John's nerve endings and make him claw at Sherlock's shoulders, silk slippery and exotic beneath his hands, sliding over skin and muscles that John can feel tensing with each moment.

He's too distracted by the fucking to notice when Sherlock shifts, and so when Sherlock takes John's cock in hand, John swears and twitches and clenches and he's almost there, without realising he was so close. Sherlock's too gone to be able to co-ordinate properly, but it doesn't really matter, because a few strokes and a wicked little twist of Sherlock's wrist is all it takes to make John come, hard and long and God he has no idea what he's saying or how much noise he's making because it feels like he's going to keep coming forever, caught by the almost vicious pleasure.

He's still shivering and his muscles are still jumping when Sherlock goes deep one last time and then stills, groaning like he's dying, head tipped back so that the long pale expanse of his neck is bare and vulnerable and if John could actually more, he'd leave a mark on the delicate skin on Sherlock's throat, a kink of his own that he hasn't yet indulged in.

They're both still panting when Sherlock tips over to fall beside John, moving just a little closer so that they're touching at shoulder and hip. John has to admit that this has been one of Sherlock's better ideas, even as he wonders if discovering all these new kinks at his age isn't just a little bit of a sad reflection on his previous sex life. Then again, he thinks, as he watches Sherlock peel off the damp and stained gloves, it's just possible that it's not the kinks, so much as the partner.


End file.
